


the toaster fic

by enbyamaguchi



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, Toast, idk this is the 3rd fic ive ever posted on here i suck ass at tagging, yum yum crunchy bread
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:13:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23157634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbyamaguchi/pseuds/enbyamaguchi
Summary: race needs toast but his toaster is broken | i'm postin a bunch of ralbert fics from my tumblr so this is one of those
Relationships: Albert DaSilva/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	the toaster fic

**Author's Note:**

> anonymous on tumblr: #3 with Ralbert?  
> prompt: “So… I just broke my toaster. Can I borrow yours?”

race sighs, staring at the probably cursed device sitting on his kitchen counter. seriously, how many toasters can a kid break in a month? he’s pretty damn sure that if there are any ghosts floating around, they have a huge thing against toasters. this is the fifth toaster in a month! although this time, race admits to himself, it’s probably his fault. you’re probably not supposed to try and jam 8 pieces of bread into the two slots just because your idiot roommate dares you to.

his ocean blue eyes, harboring a dreadful glint due to what’s probably sleep-deprivation and stress, shift over towards the digital clock built into the stove.

5:08, it reads.

eyes trailing over to the dark blue sky adorned with slivers of sunshine, race notes with a deep sigh that it’s 5:08 in the morning, not evening.

_well, fuck._

he hates that he got up so early and that he couldn’t go back to sleep. he hates that he’s craving toast at 5 in the fucking morning. and he hates that it’s even crossing his mind to go and visit his closest friend of 13 years, albert dasilva. race knows albert isn’t a morning person, and that he’ll probably want to strangle him when he shows up at his door at around probably 5:30 in the morning, asking to borrow his toaster.

still, he knows albert wouldn’t actually do that to his ‘bestest friend in the whole damn UNIVERSE,’ as he described race once. so, without bothering to change out of his pajamas (really just a baggy shirt and sweats), he grabs his phone and slips on some sneakers before unlocking the door quietly, so not to wake jack kelly, the aforementioned ‘idiot roommate.’

he closes the door silently behind him and is immediately faced with the crisp early morning chill of august, shivering slightly at the sudden change in temperature. switching his phone on, race looks down to read the time. 5:13, the clock reads. he lets out a breath, beginning to walk and calculating time and distance in his head. if he continues walking at this pace - and it’s now what, 5:14? - he really should reach al’s house earlier than expected. maybe around 5:25. he thanks whoever’s listening that his friend lives a fair walking distance away. it gives him a reason to get in some exercise through his typically busy schedule.

race has never realised how many things the city offers to look around at, and notice, and just feel. however, he didn’t once stop to think he’d realise that by walking through the streets at 5:15am, heading to his best friend’s apartment to use his god damn toaster.

it’s 5:23am when race reaches albert’s apartment. he figures it’s a little earlier than expected because he broke into a jog once the familiar street sign came into view, and his cravings for toast grew stronger.

taking a deep - and surprisingly shaky - breath, he rings on albert’s doorbell. almost right away, the rather noisy snores drifting through the apartment’s windows - god bless al’s neighbors - are interrupted by a ‘thump’ and a loud, “who the fUCK-?!”

race has to bite back a giggle, and this time he decides to knock gently.

shuffling around. cursing. stomping, and a little more cursing. then he hears the lock click on the other side and then the door opens, an— holy FUCK. there’s an angel standing in the doorway, race swears.

well, that’s race’s standpoint.

actually, it’s albert dasilva, standing shirtless and having a case of bedhead that somehow makes him look even more perfect, and- oh, shit. he looks angry. race backs away a little, intimidation setting in as he studies the features on the taller boy’s face.

he lets out a sigh of relief that’s barely audible when albert’s expression softens.

“racetrack,” albert says, voice groggy considering the fact that he just woke up. race’s breath catches in his throat. god fucking dammit, albert’s ‘morning voice’ is hot. it makes him feel insecure about his own morning voice; squeaky and high pitched - complete with voice cracks!

“what the fuck are you doing here?” albert demands.

“i, uh…” race clears his throat awkwardly and looks down, seeming to find the ground very interesting all of a sudden.

albert crosses his arms and cocks his head to race’s right. “racer, it’s nearly 5:30 in the mornin’. is everything alright?”

“y-yeah! yeah. yeah, ‘course. i just...” race takes a breath before continuing, “so… i, uhhh… i jus’ broke my toaster. can i use yours?”

a beat of silence goes by, and race doesn’t lift his gaze, scared.

...that is, until he hears a burst of laughter.

he raises his head to look at albert, who’s nearly doubled over in snickers and snorts at this point.

“race, dude, how the hell did you break your fuckin’ toaster?” he asks between laughs and gasps of breath.

“jack dared me to try and fit eight pieces of bread in it,” he grumbles. a fresh burst of laughter comes from albert as soon as the words leave race’s mouth, and the shorter boy’s cheeks are dusted with a light red in embarrassment. albert doesn’t fail to notice the almost angelic glow that the dawn’s light casts on race, making his blush all the more enchanting.

“b-besides, why do you want toast this early?” albert wheezes.

“‘cause i woke up early and i’m cravin’ toast, so fuck off and let me in! it’s fuckin’ freezin’ out here, you asshole!” this sparks realisation in albert and he quickly steps aside to allow race in, mumbling an apology which race accepts with a corresponding mumble.

albert shuts the door behind them and locks it securely. race feels around for a light switch, failing to find a better option. he forgot to put his contacts in and he didn’t even grab his glasses - ‘fucking dumbass,’ he scolds himself - and it’s still too dark for him to see the wall.

finally he feels the familiar coldness of the metal panel and he turns the light on. he emits a small whine at the change in brightness that washes over him, and albert mentally marks it as the cutest noise he’s ever heard. out loud, though, he laughs at it and earns a pout - a rather adorable pout, at that - from race, who proceeds to scoff and turn away, his back facing albert.

race dramatically strolls into the kitchen, carrying himself with a sort of pride and purpose. ah, yes, the purpose of raiding his best friend’s fridge for bread and then using said best friend’s toaster to toast said bread. albert snickers at the thought, earning a weirded-out sort of look from race, to which he returns with a goofy smile and an expertly blown raspberry.

•••

“i can’t believe you woke me up at five in the morning so you could eat fucking toast and jam,” albert grumbles, draped across his couch with race lying on top of him.

“yeah, well, you get a couple extra hours of race higgins in your day, so you better feel lucky!” race jokes, giggling.

albert rolls his eyes fondly. “how’d ya get up so early, anyhow?”

race shrugs. “didn’t turn off my alarm for work ‘cause i forgot we had the whole week off.”

albert shoots a playful glare at race. “so i’m awake ‘bout 3 hours earlier than i need to be all ‘cause you were an idiot and forgot to turn off a stupid alarm?! jesus christ, racer.”

race snorts and takes a bite out of his final piece of toast (out of four pieces, albert notes incredulously). “stop whinin’. ya love me!”

albert chuckles and absent-mindedly wraps an arm around race’s waist, causing a faint blush to dust race’s cheeks. “alright, alright. ya caught me there,” albert says lightheartedly, laughing.

and hearing that laugh, race thinks that maybe, just maybe, he should come to borrow his best friend’s toaster at 5:30 in the morning a little more often.

**Author's Note:**

> hey! if you made it this far: thank you so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed!! 
> 
> comments and/or kudos are very much appreciated if you'd like to leave them. have a lovely rest of your day/night! <3  
> -elara <3


End file.
